


Every Online Profile Must Be In Want Of Bad Pick-Up Lines

by StarlightAndFireflies



Series: Experiments in Alternates [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Online Dating, Bad Pick-Up Lines, First Meetings, John is a Flirt, M/M, Online Dating, Pick-Up Lines, Romance, Sherlock Is Bad At Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-12 20:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13555095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightAndFireflies/pseuds/StarlightAndFireflies
Summary: Janine challenges Sherlock to get a date, and in a fit of probable insanity, Sherlock accepts. Which is how, unbelievably, he finds himself on a dating website. But perhaps this ex-army doctor isn't so bad...AU in which Sherlock and John meet online, and John employs his best seduction techniques... or rather, worst.





	Every Online Profile Must Be In Want Of Bad Pick-Up Lines

Sherlock had just entered the flat when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He tugged it out and frowned when he saw the name lighting up the screen: Janine. Curious, he thumbed open the message from his acquaintance-maybe-friend. What was she up to now?

She had sent him a link, accompanied by a smile that, despite being composed of nothing more than a colon and parenthesis, still managed to look cheeky somehow. He hesitated before clicking on the link. In the brief time he had known Janine, he had grown accustomed to being startled by her boldness. That aspect of her personality should not have continued to be a shock, as the first conversation they had ever had consisted of a rather explicit description of her alibi for her neighbour’s murder—she had been sleeping with the flat’s _other_ resident at the time of the killing. Speaking of such things was simply… un-British of her.

Sighing, he supposed whatever this link was could not be worse than _that_ particular incident. He pressed the button and waited for the website to load.

Oh no.

He was wrong. This was worse. This was the worst thing she had ever done.

His thumbs flew across the screen, lightning quick, as he formed a text back.

_What in the name of sanity do you think you’re doing? SH_

Her response was prompt and, as he predicted, ridiculous.

_Come on, Sherl, I’ve never seen you go on a date. You ought to have some fun for once! I thought this would be a nice… leg over, as it were. If you’re interested, I can give you the password for your account!_

_Janine, first of all, I can hardly believe your presumption sometimes. Second, I don’t need your help to get a date. Keep your passwords. SH_

_You sure? ;)_

_Of course. Leave me alone. SH_

_Okaaaaaay fine. Let me know when you change your mind! :))))_

Exasperated, he shut off his phone and fumed for a while, sprawled on the sofa. He did not need Janine’s assistance in finding a date, or even just a lover, for that matter. He knew that many people found him attractive, and he knew how to school his body language and tone of voice in order to further attract them and make them more comfortable speaking with him. He did that all the time on cases, after all, to coerce information out of witnesses. It could not be difficult to transfer that to the real world, to people he actually found attractive in return.

Besides, he had a feeling if he simply ignored this issue, Janine would never let it go. Well, since he appeared to be in this, at least for the time being, he was _not_ going to stoop to something so ludicrous as Janine’s suggestion. If he was going to humor her schemes—as he felt he must for a while for his own safety—he would do so in his own way.

So he stood, grabbing his coat as he swept out the door. Meddling Janine, damn her. He’d show her. He didn’t need her or her stupid dating profile.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Sherlock darted out of the pub, huffing and arranging his hair back into its proper place. He’d just spent the evening in various venues, scoping out the patrons for someone suitably attractive and intelligent. So far, the entire population of every pub, restaurant, and club could be divided into three categories: handsome but idiotic, quiet but boring, or too drunk to have any other distinguishing features.

He sighed as he started back for home, too fatigued by his efforts to continue. The last person he had talked to had seemed obsessed with his arm, his thigh, and at last, a place he essentially never let people touch. Sherlock had handled it well, all things considered. After all, he justified to himself, he could have thrown his drink in the man’s face _and_ run out. As it happened, he only had done the latter. Much more dignified.

 _Well_ , he thought to himself as he made for home, frowning. _Perhaps tomorrow_.

 

* * *

 

Seven nights passed, full of tedious conversations in pubs and clubs, a few phone numbers and resulting banal chats, and one particularly memorable kiss. And not the good sort of memorable.

All the while, Janine had texted him, several times a day, to check in. She appeared to know what she had set off in him. She knew his competitive nature, knew his pride, and had played him accordingly. He was not sure why she was so invested in his love life, but he supposed that was probably just her twisted way of showing affection.

But with each passing night, doubt intensified. What was he doing? This wasn’t him. He was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath, not lovesick attention-seeker. Janine’s inexplicable investment in his personal life had made a small part of him wonder… was he really missing something? How was he to truly understand the concept of _love_ , one of the most vicious motivators in crime—and life in general, he supposed—if he himself had never experienced it, even once?

The other part of him, that sociopath part that insisted sentiment was useless, said he didn’t need this.

He wasn’t sure which part of him was stronger.

He was stretched out on his bed, debating whether to once again try to prove Janine wrong, to try to prove he could attract a partner on his own. It would be the eighth night, and all the chats he had been having with strangers were proving to be repetitive at best, alarmingly creepy at worst. He was tired of this method.

But… was he tired of the idea of finding someone?

“Dammit,” he muttered. He rolled onto his side and snatched his phone up.

_What’s the password? SH_

Her reply was, as usual, almost instant.

_Knew you’d cave eventually!_

Her next message was his username (SH221) and password (GetSherlAShag!), and the link again for good measure. He chuckled in spite of himself; she had predicted he would probably have deleted her initial message. Smart girl.

He signed in, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous website—which featured a horrible pun on a Roman god’s name in its title—and found his profile. The photo Janine had selected for him was admittedly not a bad one, one she had once snapped of him without him knowing. She had, however, managed to catch him looking not entirely horse-faced and awful. In fact, he looked… alright. On the profile itself, he corrected a few things, including his birth date, which Janine had “helpfully” made five years younger than it truly was. Then, he groaned and began to type in the “About Me” section.

“ _My (user) name is SH221, as you can clearly see. If somehow you missed that, leave my profile now. You’ll only be wasting my time. I will not speak with anyone stupid, boring, criminal, or who is fond of the abomination known as “pop music.”  If you meet these requirements and want to engage in conversation with me, proceed with caution._

 _Other things to note: I play the violin when I am thinking. Sometimes I do not talk for days. I am on this site under duress, not out of any genuine desire to be here._ ”

The rest of his profile he kept rather sparse.

_Age: 34_

_Gender: Male_

_Interested in: Men_

_Occupation: Consulting detective (don’t worry that you haven’t heard of it)_

_Location: London, England_

He completely ignored the “looking for” section, as it had ridiculous categories such as “hook-up,” “serious relationship,” and “friendship” on it. He was banking on the fact that merely being on the site, filling out his profile, would get Janine off his back. There was every chance he would delete this absurdity within a few days, anyway. Still, he hoped this was enough.

He spent the next few minutes flicking through several of his “pairs,” the people the site had somehow _matched_ with him. Probably through some sort of pseudo-compatibility algorithm nonsense. Those weren’t real science, anyway, in his estimation.

Then, he rolled his eyes. “What am I doing?” he groaned and tossed the phone away.

Useless. The last few days of madness had been just that—useless madness and foolishness.

He was better off alone. Thirty-four years of solitude had taught him that. Alone suited him.

He didn’t need anyone.

 

* * *

 

Several hours later, Sherlock jumped when his phone buzzed on the table without warning that evening. He picked it up and blinked in surprise. It was a message from a prospective match.

How unexpected. Who would want to speak to him? Especially after his deliberately off-putting profile.

Curious, he tapped the notification. The phone automatically opened to the website, and brought up the in-site chat function. A message waited there. Then, a moment later, another appeared.

**[john_h_w]: Finally! Someone else sane on this site.**

**[john_h_w]: Guess I should have started that in a more sane way. Hi, I’m John.**

Sherlock frowned, a bit perplexed. He clicked on the man’s profile photo and scanned the information there.

_John (john_h_w)_

_About Me: Not really sure what I’m doing on here, but here I am anyway. I live and work in London. If you’d like to chat, I’ve not really got much going on at the moment. That sounds a bit pathetic, though, doesn’t it? I’ll try to be more interesting when we’re face to face. Or rather, screen to screen?_

_Age: 37_

_Gender: Male_

_Interested in: Men and Women_

_Occupation: Doctor, former soldier_

_Location: London, England_

Sherlock considered. Not the most awful person to have contact him, he supposed.

Besides, he hadn’t had a case in a full week. A brief diversion wouldn’t be the worst thing.

A voice in his head, one which sounded suspiciously like Janine’s, whispered in his head. _You might even have a good time_.

He clicked back to the chat and composed a reply.

**[SH221]: Hello. Have you only spoken with delusional people on this website, then?**

**[john_h_w]: Yeah, pretty much. You’d be surprised how many people are on here thinking they’re gonna meet their soulmate and become convinced they’ve done that after just one conversation**

**[SH221]: That is ridiculous.**

**[john_h_w]: Tell me about it.**

**[john_h_w]: So, SH221, what’s your story?**

**[SH221]: My story?**

**[john_h_w]: Yeah, why are you on here? Lose a bet?**

**[SH221]: Not exactly. My friend coerced me.**

**[john_h_w]: Yeah, my sister basically forced me. Said I’ve been single too long**

**[SH221]: My friend Janine told me a similar thing.**

**[john_h_w]: Ah, Janine. So I don’t need to be jealous then**

**[SH221]: Pardon?**

**[john_h_w]: Sorry, just… based on your profile, Janine wouldn’t be my competition.**

Sherlock realized what he meant; he _had_ added his sexuality in the profile.

**[SH221]: No, she would not. Assuming you have an ulterior motive to this conversation that would necessitate you to think about other people as your competition**

**[john_h_w]: And what might this ulterior motive be? ;)**

**[SH221]: Other than commiserating about the folly of dating websites and the false promises they offer… I deduce you are actually interested in me and wish to know more about me in hopes that your shallow interest will be returned. And you hope your shallow interest becomes deeper as you get to know me.**

**[john_h_w]: Ah. Well, yes. But you also seem rather charming and interesting and unexpected. And I mean all those as compliments**

Sherlock stared at his screen, dumbfounded. How on earth had John interpreted his terse profile, his condescension toward the very website that had introduced them, and his admittedly rather lackluster conversation skills as… charming?

**[john_h_w]: Did I lose you?**

**[john_h_w]: Sorry, maybe you aren’t after a relationship. I just like talking with someone sensible**

**[SH221]: You don’t actually know anything about me**

**[john_h_w]: I know you seem intelligent. That, and you’re handsome**

**[SH221]: Thank you.**

**[john_h_w]: So is it okay we keep talking?**

**[SH221]: Yes.**

**[john_h_w]: Good :)**

Sherlock smiled. This was… surprisingly okay. In spite of John’s use of the smiley face.

**[SH221]: I warn you, though, I’m not really any good at this**

**[john_h_w]: Good at what?**

**[SH221]: This… flirting business.**

**[john_h_w]: That’s alright. I’m not the best either - I have a weakness for cheesy pick-up lines myself**

**[SH221]: Oh dear.**

**[john_h_w]: Aww come on, every online profile must be in want of bad pick-up lines!**

**[SH221]: That’s a reference to something, isn’t it?**

**[john_h_w]: Yeah, but I won’t tell you what it is since you don’t know. It’s a bit embarrassing**

**[SH221]: I don’t want to know, then.**

**[john_h_w]: Excellent. So anyway, back to the bad pick-up lines…**

**[SH221]: Oh, dear.**

**[john_h_w]: For example, are you a photographer? Because I can PICTURE the two of us together**

**[SH221]: That is horrendous.**

**[john_h_w]: I know. I just want you to know what you’re getting into**

**[john_h_w]: Besides, if you’re not sure about how to talk to me, I can always teach you**

**[SH221]: Using your cheesy pick-up lines, I assume?**

**[john_h_w]: Of course :)**

Sherlock rolled his eyes. But perhaps he was going to enjoy this. He could very well encounter a much worse selection of humanity on a site like this, after all.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Sherlock was sat on the sofa, plucking absentmindedly at his violin strings, when his phone buzzed. Then again, and again… Until five messages in a row arrived. His poor phone nearly vibrated its way off the table. Confused but smirking, Sherlock picked it up to see a slew of messages from John.

**[john_h_w]: Hey, are you a dam? Because beaver!**

**[john_h_w]: SHIT**

**[john_h_w]: I TYPED THAT WRONG**

**[john_h_w]: DON’T LOOK AT ME**

**[john_h_w]: I MUST GO**

Several minutes passed before Sherlock could stop giggling long enough to type a response.

**[SH221]: That is the best laugh I’ve had in ages. Thank you.**

**[john_h_w]: I’m glad someone’s amused. I might need to ram my head through this table**

**[SH221]: Don’t do that. The table has done nothing to you.**

**[john_h_w]: As far as you know**

**[SH221]: I thought you said you had to go.**

**[john_h_w]: Only because I was humiliated by the follies of trying to flirt using modern technology. But you said you were laughing, and I got distracted imagining that**

**[SH221]: Did you just use the word “follies?” And why would you want to imagine that?**

**[john_h_w]: I’ve got to match your massive, lovely vocabulary somehow.**

**[john_h_w]: And I’ve already told you I think you’re attractive. I think you probably look even more so when you’re laughing**

**[SH221]: I wouldn’t know.**

**[john_h_w]: Well, maybe if this flirting lark is successful, I’ll see you laughing in person someday? If you’re comfortable with that of course**

**[SH221]: We shall see.**

**[john_h_w]: Fair enough. Look, I’m sorry but I’ve really got to go this time. My break’s almost over**

**[SH221]: Ok.**

**[john_h_w]: Talk to you soon?**

**[SH221]: Alright.**

**[john_h_w]: Great!**

 

* * *

 

**[john_h_w]: Was that an earthquake? Or did you just rock my world?**

**[SH221]: For heaven’s sake, John.**

**[john_h_w]: What? That was a good one!**

**[SH221]: Are you just finding these on the internet?**

**[john_h_w]: No!**

**[SH221]: Are you sure?**

**[john_h_w]: … no**

**[SH221]: As I suspected.**

**[john_h_w]: Moving on from that… tell me, what exactly is a consulting detective? I noticed it on your profile and how you said I wouldn’t know what it is**

**[SH221]: Clearly I was right.**

**[john_h_w]: Well, yeah, but…**

**[SH221]: I solve crimes, working on cases from both private clients and official sources.**

**[john_h_w]: Official sources? Like what, the government?**

**[SH221]: Not if I can help it. I usually get most of my work from Scotland Yard. In short, when the police are out of their depth—which is always, by the way—they come to me.**

**[john_h_w]: That’s extraordinary**

**[SH221]: You really think so?**

**[john_h_w]: Of course. I’ve never heard of anything like that**

**[SH221]: Well, you couldn’t have. I invented the job.**

**[john_h_w]: Really, that’s pretty remarkable.**

**[john_h_w]: By the way, what’s your name?**

**[SH221]: What?**

**[john_h_w]: Well, I just keep calling you “SH” in my head. Is it ok if I knew your first name?**

**[john_h_w]: Are you still there?**

**[john_h_w]: If you’re uncomfortable with that, it’s ok. I know this is a pretty odd way to make friends or find dates or what have you**

**[john_h_w]: Really, just forget I asked**

**[SH221]: No, it’s alright.**

**[john_h_w]: You don’t have to tell me**

**[SH221]: I know that. I will tell you, but I’d rather wait, though.**

**[john_h_w]: that’s alright with me!**

They spent the rest of the day chatting on and off, about their work mostly, but also—to Sherlock’s surprise—about other things. Television and books, favorite foods, things Sherlock usually took no interest in at all but which somehow seemed fascinating and amusing when he spoke of them with John.

Then, at nearly half past midnight, John sent him another message.

**[john_h_w]: Do you think it’d be ok if we met sometime? I know you’re hesitant about all this, but just… you’re lovely**

Sherlock blinked. And blinked. His heartbeat had sped up. John wanted to meet him? John… thought he was lovely?

The sociopath part of him was crying out for him to stop all this, but for once, Sherlock did not listen to it.

**[SH221]: When? Where?**

**[john_h_w]: Anytime you like. Anyplace too. This is all on your terms**

**[SH221]: I’ll let you know in the morning. It’s late.**

**[john_h_w]: Right. Talk to you soon :)**

That night, Sherlock fell asleep with a small smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

Had anyone been around to witness it, Sherlock would have been humiliated by how eagerly he dove for his phone in the morning. Sitting up in bed, he was greeted by not a message from John, but by a text from Lestrade.

_Got a case for you. Meet me at the northwest Tube entrance of Oxford Circus as soon as you can_

Well, that would do. Sherlock grinned, leapt out of bed, and dressed in a flash. As he was dashing out the door, however, he felt his phone buzz.

**[john_h_w]: Morning, gorgeous. Looks like you dropped something!**

Sherlock paused in the middle of the pavement to tap out a reply. John would have to wait for their meeting, but Sherlock could at least spare a moment for this.

**[SH221]: What?**

**[john_h_w]: My jaw!**

**[SH221]: Why do I speak to you again?**

**[john_h_w]: I honestly don’t know. I’m glad you do though**

He and John chatted back and forth during the cab ride (mostly about John’s inability to craft his own pick-up lines), but once he arrived at Oxford Circus, Sherlock put his phone away. Too many people, tourists and shoppers alike. He didn’t trust that there wasn’t a pickpocketer hiding among them. So, unfortunately, John would have to wait.

He almost stopped walking as he fully parsed his own words. John would have to wait? Had he really just thought that?

Oh, what had become of him? And in such a short amount of time?

He shook off his sentimental thoughts as he hurried down the stairs into the Tube station. Lestrade waited, just on the other side of the turnstiles.

“Well? Where is the body?” Sherlock demanded as he reached him.

“Look…” Lestrade’s voice was defensive already, never a good sign.

Sherlock bit back a groan. “You let them take it to the morgue already? Why would you do that? You know I need-”

“You need the crime scene preserved in precisely the way the killer left it, I know,” Lestrade said, sighing. “I was delayed getting here myself, you know. They had moved it out of the way before _I_ even got here! The TfL lot are going on about opening up the station again, and about peak hours, and-”

“Someone has been murdered!” Sherlock snapped. “Did that realization penetrate their thick skulls?”

“I know, I’m with you. But there’s nothing I can do. I’ve told them to hold off reopening this entrance for another half hour, so…” he gestured toward the bloodstains on the floor. “Get to it.”

Sherlock sighed, long and deep. “Victim. Tell me, I need details.”

“Alright. Male, mid- to late-forties…”

But even as the Inspector began to speak, Sherlock was looking around the space. The scuffs on the tile, the angle of the handle on the storage closet…

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed. “Lestrade-”

“What?” he frowned.

But before Sherlock could speak, a man burst out of the storage closet, a knife in his hand. The killer, obviously having hidden himself in the closet during the confusion after the victim collapsed. Waiting for a chance to escape, remaining trapped by the horrified TfL employees and commuters, panicking when hearing the investigation... Sherlock heard Lestrade’s yell, but he was already moving. He threw himself forward, attempting to stop the man. Everything became a flurry of limbs, but then Sherlock reeled back. Pain was lancing up his side, fire was burning him from the inside out, he was bleeding, he was…

He was falling.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock returned to consciousness slowly, sluggishly. Where was he? Why… why did his brain feel as if it were made of cotton and discomfort?

When he opened his eyes, everything was too bright, too blindingly white. Ugh. Sterile scents, white tile, plastic furniture. He was in the hospital.

That’s right. The Tube, the killer, the stab wound in his side.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice said, from somewhere above him.

Sherlock opened his eyes once more—and when exactly had he closed them again? He really _must_ be drugged—and looked up.

A doctor stood over him—doctor, obvious from the scrubs, he wasn’t quite _that_ drugged—with a small smile on his face. And… that face. Sherlock usually barely noticed people beyond what he could deduce about them, but this man he couldn’t help but notice. Unassuming, plain-looking by most definitions, but somehow still striking. Handsome. And… vaguely familiar?

“Did it hurt?” the doctor asked. He smiled, and it made his deep blue eyes twinkle.

Sherlock frowned. “What, when I got stabbed?” Oh, it hurt to talk. He winced, trying to clear his throat, and the man handed him a cup of water.

“No, not that,” he grinned wider now. “I mean when you fell from heaven.”

Sherlock blinked. His disoriented mind seemed to take an age to get there, but-

“John?” he asked.

“The one and only,” he chuckled. “Well, not really. More like one out of several million probably, but…” he shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

Sherlock tried to sit up, to talk to him, or at least to get a better look at him, but John gently pushed him back down. “Easy,” he said. “You’ll be up and walking about in a few days if you’re smart about it, but you still took quite a hit from that knife. I managed to stitch you up just fine, but exertion is not something I recommend. You’ll be sore for about a week. Doubt it’ll get infected, but I’ll have to keep a close eye on it. Oh, and the Detective Inspector who came in with you told me to tell you he caught the killer. Which is a story I hope you’ll tell me in more detail later,” he added with a smirk.

Sherlock still just stared. He knew the status of his wound should matter, as well as that of the case, but as it was, those were the last things he cared about at the moment. “It’s really you?” He remembered the photo on the dating website, but… It hardly compared to the real life John.

“It is,” John tilted his head. “I recognized you from your photo, and your initials, though I have to say…” He paused, and smiled. “The picture didn’t do you justice by a long shot.”

Sherlock smiled, though he felt he might also be blushing. “This is… not exactly the way I imagined meeting you.”

“No,” John laughed. “No, not really. But… and I’ll deny ever having asked you this while on duty, but… do you think I could take you to dinner once you’re healed?”

Sherlock blinked again, his heart pounding harder than before. Before he could reply, however, John’s pager pinged. He glanced down at it and muttered an oath under his breath.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back in a bit, okay?” John looked rueful and more than a little awkward now. Likely due to Sherlock’s reaction—or lack thereof—to his question.

“Okay,” Sherlock said, as he watched the man go.

 

* * *

 

John emerged from the surgery four hours later—emergency appendectomy, never a dull moment in Bart’s A&E—and leaned against the wall to breathe. This shift was taking ages.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and found a message waiting for him.

**[SH221]: When I said “okay,” I meant “okay, I’ll have dinner with you.” In case you misinterpreted.**

John grinned. Maybe the rest of this shift wouldn’t be so bad… After all, he did have a laid-up, devastatingly gorgeous consulting detective to flirt with.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, back in his room, Sherlock realized what he had just done and groaned.

Janine was going to be insufferable.

Yet at the same time, when he saw John’s reply—a single wink face—he supposed it could be worse.

And now he had a delightfully handsome doctor to attempt to flirt with.

**Author's Note:**

> Next AU: Pirates!


End file.
